


Achieving Greatness

by MrsHamill



Series: Grandmother Raven: The Path of a Shaman [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related: Three Point Shot, Episode Related: Warriors, M/M, None - Freeform, Series: Grandmother Raven The Path of the Shaman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-03
Updated: 2001-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsHamill/pseuds/MrsHamill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Incacha's death, Blair tries to determine his path with the help of an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Achieving Greatness

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a multi-part series, closely paralleling the third and fourth seasons, based on Blair becoming a Shaman with the help of his friend, Grandmother Raven (and yes, her cliche name will be explained in later installments). If you want to know more on the Salish language (the Salishan are a Pacific Northwest tribe), the best place to go is http://www.ling.unt.edu/~montler/Saanich/WordList/. And YES, this WILL be slash. Eventually. Trust me! [g] Thanks, as usual, to the Alpha Beta Fox, linguist extraordinare who translated Salish into something still unpronounceable, and to Christi who also endured my whining.

_"In my stars I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are_

_born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness_

_thrust upon them."_

William Shakespeare, _Twelfth Night_

* * *

Jim: He passes over the way of the shaman to you. He wants you to guide me to my animal spirit.

Blair: Oh, so I guess that makes me the Shaman of the Great City.

_from Warriors, September, 1997_

* * *

Blair Sandburg stood in the back of the room and watched the old woman tell the children stories. She was seated in a Brentwood rocking chair, but leaned forward to her captivated audience to tell them the scary story of _Tsonoqua_ , the giant cannibal woman, and how the good children defeated her. Her audience sat on the floor before her, spellbound, their eyes and mouths wide as she related the story. 

" _Tsonoqua_ came closer and closer to the children, singing 'The children will be roasted on the rocks! The children will be roasted on the rocks!'," she said, giving the monster a scary, sing-song voice. "But when she came closest of all, the oldest child, the bravest and biggest, well, do you know what she did?" 

"What?" came many breathless questions. 

"She pushed _Tsonoqua_ right onto the fiery rocks! Just like that!" Her audience jumped as the storyteller clapped her hands together sharply. "And _Tsonoqua_ cried and wailed, 'Let me up children! I'll take you home if you let me up!' and the children all looked at each other." 

"Don't let her up!" one little boy gasped, nearly to himself, and Blair grinned. 

"No, they didn't let her up. In fact, one of the children said, 'We should get a stick to hold the wicked old cannibal woman down and roast her!', so they did. And _Tsonoqua_ got stuck there, right on the rocks she was heating for the children, and just roasted all up." 

A hand in the audience shot up: the little boy who had gasped. "Yes, Pete?" the storyteller said. 

"When she was all roasted up, did they cut her open?" he asked, and the other children made 'ewww' noises. "And did they find the other children she had eaten?" 

"Why, yes, Pete," the old woman said, grinning. "That's just what they did. And that is the end of the story." 

The old woman just smiled at the verbal protests that ensued. "Go on with you now. Story time is over." 

A young woman appeared from a side door and herded the young ones up and out of the room. "Thank you Grandmother Raven," Blair heard as the children left. He stayed where he was, in the shadows, grinning. 

"Well, boy, don't just stand there," the gravelly voice of the storyteller said firmly. "Get your ass over here and help me up." 

"Yes, Grandmother Raven," Blair replied, for the first time noticing the cane by the rocking chair. "What the hell... what happened?" 

She snorted. "Fell a while back and cracked my pelvis," she said, rocking forward and using the momentum to rise to her feet carefully. Blair scurried to her, supporting her with one hand to the small of her back. "Which you would have known had you been coming round like you used to, you little... Dear God in Heaven. Blair?" As she spoke, she pulled the cane to her, then turned to get her first good look at Blair, staggering back. 

"What?" Blair asked, steadying her. 

"What happened, child? What... Blair, you're covered in blood. What happened to you?" 

Blair looked down at himself, alarmed, only seeing his usual flannels and jeans, no blood. But Grandmother Raven was staring at him, wide-eyed, clearly upset. She reached out and grabbed his left hand, turning it to look at a point on his forearm. "Here. And here too," she added, pointing to his face. "Blood, everywhere. Not your blood, thank the spirits, but blood. Whose blood, Blair? And why?" 

Realizing what she must be seeing, Blair's face fell. "It's... it's what I came to talk to you about," he said, his voice not much more than a whisper. "I need your help, Grandmother." 

"I should say you do!" she replied tartly. "You are going to drive me home, and we are going to have some tea, and you are going to explain all this to me. Let me call Violet while you bring that horrible old thing you call a car around." 

"Yes, ma'am," Blair said, feeling a bit better. 

"I wouldn't feel better if I were you," she said, gripping his arm with surprising strength. "You're going to have to tell me ALL of it. You hear?" Blair froze and looked at her, much as a deer might when caught in the headlights of a semi. "All of it," she reiterated firmly. "Now go see if that unsafe-at-any-speed thing will start." 

Luckily, it was not a long trip to Grandmother Raven's house, for she was even less pleased with the Volvo than she had been with the Corvair. She filled up the time asking about various people, mutual friends from the University that she hadn't seen in a while, and making snide comments about people neither of them liked. Blair realized before he pulled into the driveway of her bungalow that he had missed the old woman, more than he had thought possible. It had only been a bit over a year since he had last seen her, but it almost felt like a lifetime. Well, he reflected, in a way, it was a lifetime. He certainly wasn't the same person who had last seen her. 

He helped her out of the Volvo and into the back door of her house, a familiar place that smelled good, and his realization that he had missed her hit home again. He stood still and took a deep breath: the house smelled of incense, cedar, cookies, tea, ginseng and wood-smoke, a combination of odors that always seemed to calm him down. "Sit down, boy," she said, indicating the kitchen table. "I'll put the kettle on." 

Squashing an impulse to help her -- which he knew, from experience, would only get him rebuked and possibly smacked -- Blair did as she requested. After a moment, he felt scratching and looked down to see a golden ferret busily climbing his leg. 

"Be careful there, Morrie," Grandmother Raven said from the stove, her back to Blair. "Don't put holes in the flannel." 

As the ferret climbed, sniffed and investigated, Blair said, "Morrie? What happened to Dodger?" 

"Ah, Dodger joined the spirits last year," Grandmother Raven said sadly. She reached into a cabinet to retrieve two mugs and loose tea. "But he left me well protected. That is his granddaughter." 

"Morrie?" Blair asked. The ferret had apparently decided he was good people and was encouraging him to rub her head. 

"Short for Moriarity. I'm running out of thief names." 

Blair chuckled, allowing the ferret to taste his fingers. "Hello, Morrie," he said softly. After a few moments of roughhousing, the ferret curled up on his lap and fell asleep. Grandmother Raven brought them both mugs, and a plate of cookies. 

"All right, young pup, out with it. What's been happening to you over the last year or so?" 

Blair blew across his cup, took a sip of tea, then put it down. "Well," he said, beginning slowly, "there's a lot to tell." 

"I got time," she growled menacingly, then ruined the effect by shoving the plate of cookies at him. 

"Okay." Blair blew out a big breath. "You remember what my dissertation was about? Sentinels, the tribal guardians with enhanced senses?" She nodded, regarding him keenly. "Well, I found one." 

Grandmother Raven raised one eyebrow at him, seeming not at all surprised. "And?" she prompted. 

"And." Blair took another sip. "And, well, my life has changed a bit." 

* * *

Blair had met Vi Williams -- known to most as Grandmother Raven -- while studying for his Masters at Rainier five years before. She had taken an instant liking to the young man, and had helped him extensively on several papers dealing with tribal hierarchy. Even after he'd declared his thesis and moved on from studying the tribes of the Pacific Northwest, he'd still stopped by the Cascade Native American Resource Center frequently; to talk, to bitch, to get advice, to be soothed when everything seemed to be conspiring against him, to be nagged when his enthusiasm was flagging. 

Then he'd met his Sentinel, Jim Ellison, and his life had taken a rather sharp left turn. 

"You're working with cops?" Grandmother Raven said, fighting back a laugh. "Naomi must be absolutely beside herself." 

"Well, she was, at first, but she likes Jim." Blair snorted. "Likes him a bit too much, I think, but you know Naomi. But anyway, yeah, I'm a civilian observer. Have been for almost two years now." 

"Don't that just beat all," she said, shaking her head, motioning for him to keep going. 

While Blair talked, he studied the woman sitting across the table from him. She hadn't changed much in the -- wow, had it really been almost two years? -- since he had last seen her. She could be any age, but Blair guessed she was in her seventies. Her iron-gray hair was twisted on top of her head in coils, and Blair wondered just how much longer it had gotten. When he'd last seen her, it had been nearly down to her knees. There might be a few more lines around her warm chocolate eyes, and she was definitely moving a bit slower than she had been, but those eyes were still sharp and Blair figured she could still tickle a salmon into her net if she wanted. 

"*S'eilekh tein*," she whispered, reaching across the table to take his hand. "That was _you_? I remember reading about that..." 

"Yeah." Blair had to swallow against an unexpected flood of emotion. "He -- he thought he could be me. Be anyone, actually, anyone other than himself. He was a pretty sick guy." He squeezed her fingers and squeezed his eyes shut against the memories. "Jim found me. Before... well, before. Jim found me." 

Grandmother Raven was looking at him sharply now, her head cocked to the side in the way that Blair thought had earned her the nickname. Clearing his throat, he continued with his long story, not glossing over anything, wondering what she thought of it all. Murders and murderers, psychos and sickos and wackos, oh my. His life certainly _had_ been interesting. Not safe, not like it was before, but interesting. 

"So, his exact words were...?" 

"Well, I don't speak Quechua," Blair replied, "other than a few words, anyway, but Jim was translating. He said Incacha said he passed the way of the shaman to me. He wanted me to guide Jim to his animal spirit." 

"And this spirit..." Grandmother Raven said, rising slowly from her chair and moving to the stove. She put the heat back on under the teakettle as Morrie suddenly jerked awake and slithered off Blair's lap. "This spirit is a black jaguar." 

"Yeah," Blair said, "well, either that or a panther. Jim's seen it and described it to me." 

"It's a black jaguar," she said firmly, taking another mug from the cabinet, "the 'shape-shifter night cat' or 'the black cougar that walks between worlds.' I've heard legends of it." 

"The black... the _what_?" Blair said, frowning. "What does it..." 

"Oh my God," said a new voice, and Blair turned. Standing in the doorway was a lovely vision, a tall, brown-eyed beauty with long, dark, braided hair -- and Morrie on her shoulder. "Grandmother said you were here, but I thought she was just having another senior moment." 

"Bite your tongue, *k'weit'en*," Grandmother Raven said mildly, handing the newcomer a mug of tea. 

"Violet?" Blair gasped, standing. "I can't believe it. It hasn't been _that_ long, has it?" 

Apparently pleased with his reaction, Violet put her mug on the table and walked into Blair's embrace. "Yes, it has. Where the hell you been, Curly?" 

"Way too far away from here, apparently. You're taller than me! When did this happen?" 

The two women laughed at Blair's discomfiture. Violet helped Grandmother Raven back to her chair, then took a chair herself, sipping her tea. "She's seventeen now, my namesake," Grandmother Raven said, more than a hint of pride in her voice. "My student, now, too." 

Blair boggled at the young woman. "Oh, wow, you took your spirit walk?" 

Violet smiled smugly. "Yup. During the summer. My vision quests had told me my destiny, but it was still pretty hard to decide to become a *khwew'itchi'steng kw sh nei'ems*." 

His smile fading, Blair turned to Grandmother Raven. "I think that's what Incacha wanted for me, Grandmother," he said seriously, "to be a shaman-in-training. Maybe I should go on a vision quest." 

"Oh, Blair, you're too old for a vision quest!" Violet laughed, allowing Morrie to climb down her arm to the floor. "And who is Incacha, anyway?" 

"You missed it, daughter of my heart," Grandmother Raven said placidly, sipping her tea. "Blair has had a long, strange story to tell me." 

"It's _Blair_ Grandmother," Violet said, her voice wry. "When *isn't* it strange?" 

Blair snorted and stuck his tongue out at her; she retaliated the same way. "Look at him, Violet," Grandmother Raven said. "Look closely." 

"I am looking closely," Violet said, her voice still laughing. "He looks like the same old hairy beast he's always been. Short, now, too." 

"Hey!" Blair protested. "I always used to be taller than you!" 

Grandmother Raven leaned forward and pinched Violet's arm. "Pay attention, *khwew'itchi'steng*. Listen. Look at him closely." 

Rubbing the small hurt, Violet frowned at Grandmother Raven and then turned back to Blair. Her eyes closed -- Blair could almost see her centering herself. When her eyes opened again, he shivered; they were immensely deeper. In fact, they reminded him of Incacha's eyes. "Holy shit!" she exclaimed. "Sorry, Grandmother. Blair, what the hell happened to you? What is that, blood?" 

Blair sighed. "Yeah. Um, should I tell her or do you want to?" he asked Grandmother Raven. 

"Go ahead, boy. I have something I need to do downstairs." She rose and moved towards the basement steps, on the way stopping next to Blair. She kissed his cheek, then rested her own against it. "It will be all right, young pup," she murmured. "You've done the right thing." 

Giving her a weak smile, Blair watched as she moved carefully off, then turned back to Violet. "If I had known you were going to come in just as I was finishing up, I would have waited to tell the whole thing," he joked. 

Violet smiled back at him. "Repetition makes it clearer, Curly. Go ahead, it sounds to me like you're into something that's way over your head this time." 

"You have no idea," he murmured to his teacup. "None at all." 

* * *

Jim Ellison got home late from work that evening, and it didn't take long for him to realize he hadn't followed his roommate home by much. The loft was very dark, illuminated only by the light from the bay filtering into the room from the patio doors and the clerestory windows. After a few moments, Jim realized that Blair was leaning against the back of the yellow chair, looking out the window, and he wondered what his partner was doing. 

"Hey, man," Blair greeted him softly as he entered and put his keys in the basket. "There's dim sum in the fridge. I just put it in there so it should still be kinda warm." 

"Thanks, Chief," Jim replied, looking curiously at the shadowy form. "Uh, mind if I put on a light?" 

"Oh, sure, sorry, man. Just doing some heavy-duty thinking," Blair said, switching on a lamp and moving to the kitchen table. The white couch \-- where Incacha had died less than a week before -- was still gone, being cleaned, but Blair skirted the area anyway. 

"Yeah, I could see the smoke coming from your ears," Jim joked, then frowned when Blair's response was nothing more than a preoccupied smile. The dim sum was indeed still warm, but not quite warm enough. Dumping it onto a plate, Jim put it into the microwave for a few seconds, snagging himself a beer as he did so. 

Blair turned one of the kitchen chairs around and straddled it, still preoccupied. Jim pulled his dinner from the microwave and, grabbing utensils, moved to the table as well. "What's up, Sandburg?" he asked mildly, trying not to let on how this unnatural silence was bothering him. Blair had been somewhat subdued since Incacha's death, but this was -- something more. 

The spicy flavor of the food burst across Jim's tongue at his first bite, but he didn't take his eyes off Blair. "I, uh, I know we've been over this," Blair finally said slowly, his finger tracing the grain of wood on the border of the tabletop. "But I need to ask you again, Jim. Because I, well, I did something today, that you might not like. But I had to." 

Jim sighed. Typical Sandburg -- sneak up on the subject, circle around it, then pounce and miss. He struggled for a normal voice. "Go ahead, Chief, I'm listening." 

"The other day, when Incacha... when he passed on the way of the shaman to me. We've talked about what _I_ think it means, but what... what did it mean to you?" 

The death of Incacha was still inhabiting a raw spot in Jim's soul, one he wasn't sure would ever heal. Incacha had meant so much to him, had saved him when he had thought himself beyond saving, had been a friend to a man wracked with grief and survivor guilt. Jim had never fully expected to see Incacha again, but then to have the man not only show up in Cascade but _die_ on his sofa... and Jim once again had been unable to prevent the death of a friend, a comrade. 

His first impulse was to growl at Sandburg, to demand a change in the subject, to deny such a horrible thing had ever happened. But Blair was looking at him earnestly, and all Jim's protests died unborn on his lips. Blair deserved an answer. Blair deserved more than Jim gave him. Clearing his throat, Jim put his fork carefully on his plate. "I--I'm not sure what it meant," he finally said, his voice low and thick. "I know he wanted you to guide me. To help me -- I guess, in the same way he did in Peru. With my senses." 

"What did Incacha do for the Chopec, Jim?" Blair asked. "More importantly, what did he do for you while you were in Peru?" 

Taking a long swallow of beer, Jim thought about his answer. "Well, much the same as you, I guess. I know we've talked about it before, when all the memories came back. He kept me from zoning, from overloading myself. He... he grounded me. Like you do. Only..." Jim's face twisted up in sudden thought and realization. 

"Only what?" Blair asked. 

"Only, with -- with you, it's easier." Jim looked up at Blair, a frown of surprise on his face. "It's easier. You... do it better. Sometimes, it would take him hours to get me to come out of a zone. You've never had a problem, you've never let me go more than a couple of minutes, tops. You always know, you can always figure out what it is that's gotten me overloaded." 

Blair sat up straight, his face reflecting his shock. "I do it _better_?" he asked, stunned. "Jim, how is that _possible_? I -- I usually have no idea what I'm doing!" 

Jim shook his head. "How the hell should I know, Sandburg?" he asked. "Inc-- he couldn't explain stuff to me, not the way you can anyway, and anyways, he probably didn't have the words." 

Abruptly, Blair bounced to his feet and started pacing. "Maybe... maybe there is something to this after all," he murmured, his hands reflexively yanking at his hair. "Maybe she was right." Before Jim could ask who 'she' was, Blair had turned to him. "What else did he do, Jim? As a shaman to the village, I mean. He didn't spend all his time with you, right?" 

"No, no," Jim said, frowning, "he did all kinds of stuff. He blessed the plantings, and the hunt. He asked the spirits for protection, for help when times weren't good. He taught the kids, and helped out with births when they were really difficult. He sat next to the chief, and was his advisor. All kinds of stuff, Chief, and you know all this." 

"Yeah, yeah," Blair muttered, still pacing. In mid-stride, he stopped, and after a minute, swiveled to look at Jim. "Was he a warrior?" he demanded. 

"Uh," Jim thought back. "Well, yes, when he needed to be. I mean, he had others to fight for the tribe, for him, but if he needed to..." 

"And he had you, too," Blair said, slowly walking back to his chair to sit down. "You did the fighting, he just backed you up." 

"Well, yeah." This was getting ridiculous. "This is getting ridiculous, Sandburg. What is your point? And who is 'she'?" 

Coming back to himself as if from far away, Blair focused on Jim again. "That's the part you're probably not going to like," he said softly, ruefully. "I talked with an old friend today. I hadn't seen her since, well, since before my apartment blew up. Her name is Vi Williams, but everyone calls her Grandmother Raven. She's a tribal elder of the Salishan here in the Puget Sound area, and she's a shaman." 

Jim blinked. After a moment, he reached out, picked up his beer and drained the bottle. Looking down at his plate, he realized he had mostly finished the dim sum, and he wasn't very hungry any more anyway, so he rose, took his plate to the sink and his bottle to the recycling bin, grateful for Blair's silence while he thought. Finally, dish scraped and washed, he went to the fridge for another beer, then sat back down at the table. "You told her about me, didn't you." It was not a question. 

"Yes, I did," Blair replied. "I need help here, Jim. I can't... I don't know what I'm doing. I'm terrified I'm going to screw up and put you in danger." Oddly enough, Jim didn't feel very upset at the revelation that someone else knew about his abilities. He simply sat and listened to Blair. "You know I've been waking up at night, since it happened, with dreams, and some of them have been bad. I know you know, 'cause I've caught you standing at my door in the middle of the night." 

Nodding, Jim took another deep drink. Blair's heart-rate would spike; Jim would smell sweat and tears, so he would hurry down the stairs, sometimes more than half asleep, to make sure his friend was all right. "So I went to Grandmother, for help and advice." Blair snorted in amusement. "Kind of like Pooh bear. Anyway, I had to tell her everything, Jim. You can trust her. She's more secure than Cascade National, man." 

"I -- I don't think trust is the issue here, Chief," Jim said, surprised his voice sounded normal, when inside he felt like trembling to pieces. "I know you've been having a hard time of it. And, well, I think you know I've been having a hard time too. If she can help you, well, then, you should see her. Maybe she... can help us both." 

"She wants to see you too, man," Blair said softly. His deep blue eyes were boring holes into Jim, seeing right down into his soul. "And I think you should go. Talk to her. I don't have to be there when you do." 

"No, that's all right, um." Jim drained his second beer and began fiddling with the label on the bottle, carefully tearing it off in strips. "I guess. I mean, she sounds like something, a genuine shaman here in Cascade." 

Blair laughed. "Oh, she's something, all right. You'll love her. Or you'll hate her. One or the other. But I can guarantee you'll respect her, regardless. She's a good person, Jim." 

Half shrugging, Jim stood to take his bottle to the bin. "If you vouch for her, I'm sure she is. I -- I trust you, Chief. You know that, don't you?" 

"Yeah," Blair smiled sweetly. "Yeah, I know that, Jim. And I know you look out for me. I... just think maybe we need someone -- other than Simon -- looking out for both of us." 

"Oh, that reminds me," Jim said suddenly. "Can you get tomorrow afternoon off?" 

"Uh, yeah," Blair said, mentally reviewing his schedule. "After two o'clock, anyway. Why?" 

"I've got tomorrow off, since I'm seeing my insurance agent about getting the new car," Jim replied. "Well, in the morning, anyway. Be glad to dump that old rental. Anyway, I've got passes to the Jags practice tomorrow, if you want to go..." 

"If I want to _go_?" Blair's face was incandescent. "Are you kidding man? See the Jags up close and personal? Oh, man! Oh wow!" 

Oddly pleased with Blair's reaction, Jim reached out and whapped Blair on the head while heading for the living room. "Get a little more enthusiastic there, Junior," he said. 

"Ow! Quit that!" Blair was grinning ear-to-ear. "How'd you manage this little miracle?" 

Jim shrugged. "I asked, Simon pulled some strings, so we're in. Shall I pick monsieur up at two-thirty?" 

"By all means! This is fucking _great_! Hey, and after we're done there, we can go by the CNARC and see Grandmother. She's always there late on Wednesdays. Man, she's going to be so jealous! She _loves_ the Jags!" 

Grunting -- in either assent or denial, he wasn't quite sure how he felt at the moment -- Jim sat on the sofa and picked up the remote. 

* * *

"I'm telling you, man, Roshman is less than half the player Wallace is," Blair said, his hair and hands flying everywhere. He had to trot a bit to keep up with Jim, but they managed to reach the main door of the CNARC together. 

"And I'm not disagreeing with you, Sandburg," Jim said, holding the door open. "But Wallace is going to retire at the end of this season. You saw him. For a b-ball player, he's an old man." 

"Jim! He's younger than you!" Blair laughed, poking his taller companion in the chest. 

"Yeah, and if I were a b-ball player, I'd be ancient. As it is, I'm well-preserved -- distinguished." Ignoring the snort of laughter this produced, Jim continued. "Roshman's got game, Chief. He's the one to watch. No matter that the guy's an asshole and we hate his guts." 

"Well, you got that part right anyway -- oh, look. There she is." 

The Cascade Native American Resource Center was a large, open building, designed to allow the most of the outside in as possible, apparently. There was a lovely reproduction of a stream running right through the long center hall, which was topped with skylights and off of which were several rooms; meeting rooms, exhibit rooms, library rooms. Jim had never been in the building before, and in looking it over, realized how cleverly it was designed, and how nice it actually was. Instead of chemicals, his sensitive nose picked up wood and resin, incense and botanicals. The floor was made of old, cracked timbers, polished by feet rather than a machine. The entire building presented a feeling of peace and quiet, like a forest. 

When Blair spoke, Jim looked over a group of teenagers milling around the front desk, laughing and poking each other, to see a smaller knot of older people beyond. He noted one tiny, bent old woman, wearing a strange sort of ceremonial blanket, and figured he had spotted Blair's friend. 

The teenagers broke up, laughing, allowing Jim and Blair to move closer to the older people. A tall, stout woman with bound-up iron-gray hair, wearing jeans and a flannel workshirt and leaning heavily on a footed cane, caught sight of them and came over. "Hello, boy," she growled as she hugged Blair. 

"Hi, Grandmother," Blair replied, hugging her back firmly. "I've brought Jim. Jim Ellison, this is Vi Williams, but you'd better call her Grandmother Raven or she might not answer." 

Jim blinked; she was not exactly what he had expected. With his Sentinel sight he sharpened in on her broad, brown face, seeing signs of age that were not apparent at first blush. He stuck out his hand. "It's nice to meet you," he said, "Blair speaks highly of you." 

Grandmother Raven's keen brown eyes looked up into his face for a moment before taking his hand. Jim had the uncomfortable feeling that she was observing and weighing every single thing he had ever done in his life, checking to find him worthy, and finding him wanting. When she did take his hand, her grip was firm and dry. "As he does of you, too, Mr. Detective. Let's go back to my office. We can talk there." 

Her 'office' was actually a tiny cubby, lined with books. There were four chairs, centered around a very small cocktail table; one door; no windows; and it was silent as a tomb. Jim found he liked it; being with Blair had made the dusty odor of old books familiar and pleasant to him. Grandmother Raven waved them to seats, then took one herself. "I can offer you cider, but it's not very cold," she said, indicating a metal pitcher on the table, surrounded by four glasses. 

"Oh, that's fine," Blair said, quickly pouring three glasses. Before he took a sip he hesitated, however, looking at her over the rim. "Uh, it's not, um, _hard_ , is it?" 

Grandmother Raven threw her head back and laughed. "Sorry, pup, not this time." When she caught Jim's puzzled glance between them, she explained, "Some years ago, Blair attended a potlatch here and drank rather too much of something he wasn't quite ready for." 

Blair snorted at her. "'Wasn't quite ready for.' What an understatement. That drink could have removed paint." 

"I did warn you, Blair," she said placidly, sipping her cider. 

"I've found that warning Sandburg off anything just adds incentive for him to do it," Jim said dryly. 

"Hey!" Blair laughed. "I like so resemble that remark!" Jim just grinned at Blair and basked in the returning smile. 

"So, Mr. Detective," Grandmother Raven said, her voice deep and gravelly, "my Blair says you're his Sentinel." 

Jim swallowed and turned to the woman. Once again, he felt her piercing gaze on him, assessing, weighing. He cleared his throat. "Um, yes ma'am. I mean, I am a Sentinel. And I guess if I'm anyone's, I belong to Sandburg." He glanced at Blair, who had a rather stunned expression on his face. "Much like any lab rat," he added slyly, and got bopped in the arm for it. 

"You are SO in trouble for that," Blair murmured, grinning over his cup. 

But Grandmother Raven did not seem amused. "And you have been putting him in danger, as well," she added. 

Jim's mouth went dry. "Well, I suppose..." he started, but was interrupted by Blair. 

"Grandmother, stop it. I went freely," Blair said firmly. He shot Jim a look, which the older man caught but couldn't fathom. "Jim needs me. I go where he goes. Don't go blaming this on him." 

"Blaming _what_ on me, Chief?" Jim asked. 

"I, uh, told Grandmother about all the stuff. You know, about -- about Lash. And the golden. Man, don't do that!" Blair actually looked mad now. "You see, Grandmother? He beats himself up over it, and it's not his fault." 

"It _is_ my fault, Chief!" Jim frowned at Blair in exasperation. "I _put_ you in danger. I could keep you from coming with me--" 

"And I would follow you anyway! So you can quit the guilt trip, Jim. It's _my choice_." 

"I've found that warning Blair away from something just adds incentive for him to do it," Grandmother Raven said softly, looking intently at Jim. 

Jim started at hearing his earlier words thrown back at him, so gently. "You don't beat around the bush, do you?" he asked her, smiling wryly. 

"Not when it comes to people I care about," she replied tartly. 

"Now, wait, I care--" Jim said, but his defensive words were cut off. 

"Yes, you care," she said, leaning forward, waving to Blair to be silent when he opened his mouth. "You care both too much and not enough. You have been hurt, I can see this clearly -- you tow your pain behind you like a thundercloud on a string. And you let the hurts from your past have too much influence over your feelings for today." 

Jim sat back, stunned. He was beginning to realize that he couldn't lie to this woman, not like he could lie to himself or to others. Suddenly, like a breaking dam, he felt the truth come pouring out. "I worry about him. I -- I'm afraid. I don't want him hurt. I... I couldn't stand it if..." 

"Jim," Blair whispered, grabbing Jim's shoulder. 

"Blair came to me because he was feeling overwhelmed," Grandmother Raven said, her voice still soft. "He's had a traumatic experience, which, if I heard him correctly, you had too. Enqueri." 

Shocked, Jim looked from the woman to Blair, only to see the same stunned expression on his partner's face. "How did you..." Jim managed to get out, but she continued on over him. 

"You wear your name like a shroud," she said, her voice almost sad. "instead of proudly and with the dignity it deserves. Just like you turn your back on that." 

With her chin, Grandmother Raven indicated a space just behind and to Jim's right. When he turned to look, puzzled, he was shocked to see the jaguar lying there. "Oh my God..." Blair choked out from next to him, and Jim whirled. Blair's face was white and his eyes were like saucers, staring at a spot just to the right and behind Jim. 

"Do you see it, Chief?" Jim demanded. 

Blair swallowed. "I -- I see something. A shadow... no, more than a shadow. Grandmother?" 

"You approach the paths of the shaman, Blair," Grandmother Raven said calmly. She turned back to Jim. "When I saw Blair yesterday, he was covered in blood. He still is. But it is fading... no, not fading. It is being absorbed into him. He has the blood of a shaman on him, and he has a choice to make." 

From the open-mouthed, deer-in-the-headlights expression on Blair's face, he was feeling as flummoxed as Jim was. "What... what choice?" Jim gasped, feeling the deep water panic rise in him. 

"He must decide which path to walk," Grandmother Raven said, taking a sip of her cider. "If he wishes, he can leave all this behind and not become a shaman -- it's not too late for that. However, if he continues on the shaman's path, he will have a lot of work, a lot of pain, a lot more blood to suffer." 

Jim could feel his face twist up in anguish. "I couldn't, oh, God, I couldn't bear to let him..." 

"What you would let him do and what he will do are not the same things, Enqueri," Grandmother Raven said implacably. "He is your Guide. That much has been established beyond doubt. Something you would do well to remember, too. If he chooses, he will also be your shaman. But it is up to him to choose." 

Utterly at a loss, Jim did as he usually did when in need; he looked to Blair for help. But Blair didn't look back. Rather, he sat preternaturally still, a look of confusion and near-panic on his face. "I... I don't know if I can," Blair whispered after a long silence, not meeting either of their eyes. "I'm afraid to try, Grandmother. What if I fail? What if I fail... him?" 

"At the risk of sounding like an ugly green puppet, there is no try, Blair," Grandmother Raven said gently. "Either you do it or you don't. If it is what you want, if it is what you feel tugging at your soul, then it is what you must do." She looked again at Jim, that piercing glare that stripped all the layers off him. "And it is something you have no say over, Enqueri. Except to support him or not." 

"I'll always support him," Jim said quickly, then coughed, trying to mask the emotion he heard in his voice. "I mean, I always listen to him. I... don't always, I mean, sometimes I say stuff that..." 

"Jim," Blair said quietly. "I know, man." He was still studying the toes of his shoes, as though hoping to find his answers there. 

"You both have hard roads ahead of you. Sometimes, you will walk together, sometimes apart." Grandmother Raven looked between them, shrewdly, then suddenly seemed to come to a decision. "I'll help you, as much as this old broad can, anyway. Both of you. But I make one demand upon you in payment. You must always be honest with me. Do you accept my help?" 

It had the sound of a formal request, and Jim looked to Blair for guidance. When Blair nodded to him, Jim turned back to her and said, "Yes. We do." 

"What do I need to do?" Blair asked softly. 

"I don't know, Blair," she said simply. "You and I will have to spend some time together, to think about it. To decide. I'm not altogether certain I can handle more than one student at a time. But I will be there for you." 

"Thank you, Grandmother," Blair said. He gulped, then looked up and over at Jim. "Jim?" 

"Uh... yeah, Chief?" Jim fought to hold down the shakes, afraid of what he might hear. 

"We, uh, we'll need to talk about this, man. Do, do you think you can? Talk about it, I mean." 

Jim found himself incapable of meeting Blair's eyes. "I'll... I'll try. Chief. I'll try." 

"Okay." Blair blew out a big sigh. "I guess that's all I can ask for. Grandmo--" 

"Grandmother? Are you ready? Oh, hi, Blair." Violet stood in the doorway, taking in the group with big eyes. "I'm sorry. I interrupted." 

"We're pretty much done here, *k'weit'en*," Grandmother Raven said. Jim and Blair got shakily to their feet, turning to greet the newcomer. 

Blair was still pale and subdued, but he was able to give Violet a hug. "Violet, lemme introduce Jim Ellison, my partner, you remember? Jim, this is Violet Halperin, Grandmother Raven's, uh, what, Vi? Grand-niece?" 

Violet scrunched up her face for a moment, thinking. "Great-grand-niece. I think. Doesn't really matter. Hi, Jim. Nice to meet you." 

"Yeah, same here," Jim said, shaking the girl's hand. She reminded him uncomfortably of the older woman, for all she looked like a fairly normal teenaged girl. He heard her heart rate spike as she touched his hand, and realized from the direction of her gaze that she was seeing that damn jaguar too. 

"Wow, uh," she said, shooting a glance to Grandmother Raven, "either you're an incredible Jags fan or you've got serious spirit animal problems. Either way, you're going to need a lot of kitty litter." 

Grandmother Raven's mouth was twitching. "Violet." 

"Sorry, Grandmother," Violet said, not at all abashed. 

"Well, you could say I'm a Jags fan," Jim said, running a trembling hand over his hair. 

"Yeah, we are that," Blair interjected, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "As a matter of fact, Jim and I just got back from going backstage at practice." 

"You're kidding." Violet said, enthralled. "You met the players? You saw a practice?" 

"Sure did, squawgirl," Blair said. "And Orvelle Wright shook THIS hand," he added, holding up his right hand." 

"Ooooh... can I kiss it?" Violet asked mischievously. 

"And you failed to secure his autograph for your old friend?" Grandmother Raven said, shaking her head. "I can see we have a long way to go with you to teach you proper respect for your elders." 

"Respect for his elders has never been Sandburg's strong suit," Jim joked, relieved that the situation had calmed. His cell phone went off and he excused himself to the hallway. 

"Jim! Simon," he heard through the speaker. "Hate to ask this on your day off, but can you get back here to the stadium?" 

"Sure, Simon," Jim replied, frowning. "What's up?" 

"There's been a murder. I need you down here as fast as you can," Simon replied. 

"Well, we're right around the corner. Be there in ten." Closing his cell phone and replacing it in his pocket, Jim poked his head back into the room. A lively discussion on the merits of various basketball players \-- playing for the Jags especially -- was going on, and he hated to interrupt it. "Chief, that was Simon. We've got to go." 

"Oh, sure, Jim. Grandmother, thank you for seeing us. I'll call you tomorrow, all right?" 

"That's fine, Blair," she replied, kissing his cheek as he hugged her. 

"Yeah, it was great to meet you, uh..." Jim floundered. 

Her lips twitched again. "Grandmother Raven, Enqueri. I give you permission." 

"Uh, okay, thanks, Grandmother Raven." Jim ducked his head to hide what he was sure was a slight blush. 

"Catch ya later, squawgirl," Blair said, giving Violet a peck on the cheek. 

"'K, Curly," she replied as the two men left. 

"'Curly'?" Jim asked as they left the building and got into the truck. 

"Watch it, 'Larry'," Blair growled. 

"Does that make Simon Moe?" Jim joked, slamming his door and fastening his seatbelt. 

"Nyuk, nyuk," Blair replied, grinning. 

Jim grinned back, then said in a falsetto voice, "Why I outghta..." 

* * *

A few days later, two exhausted men staggered into the loft at close to three in the morning. Jim locked up automatically, following Blair into the kitchen. Blair pulled two bottles of waters out of the fridge and gave one to Jim; the two of them leaned against opposite sides of the kitchen counter while they drained the bottles. 

"I'm too damn tired to take a shower," Jim muttered, brushing futilely against his shirt. 

"I know, man, but you need one," Blair replied, his voice just as weary. "You'll get grease all over your sheets if you don't." He grinned at Jim, who looked a bit like a Chopec what with the grease all over his face, arms and clothes. "And then I'll have to listen while you bitch about trying to get it out." 

"Hard life, Chief," Jim retorted, giving his partner a half-hearted glare. "I didn't see you dangling from guy wires above the arena." 

"No, you didn't," Blair replied, "and you won't ever, either. Actually, I kinda wish you had let that bastard fall. He nearly ruined the Jags season, man. All for a few bucks." 

"Still think it's a victimless crime, Chief?" Jim asked, then drained his bottle. "Okay, I'm gonna get that shower and hit the hay. Night, Sandburg." 

"Night, Jim," Blair replied, walking to his bedroom. 

However, when Jim came out of the shower, Blair's lights were still on, and the young man was sitting on the edge of his bed, a pensive look on his face. Jim had one towel slung around his shoulders and another around his hips; emerging from the bathroom with a cloud of steam, he paused at the French doors and frowned. "Everything okay, Chief?" he asked. 

"What? Oh, yeah," Blair replied, barely glancing at Jim. "Yeah, I was just thinking. I talked to Grandmother earlier, and told her I'd come by her house tomorrow -- well, today now -- so we could talk some more." 

Jim grimaced; he'd known this was coming, but he had hoped to put it off as long as possible. "Have you, I mean, do you think, um, do you know what..." 

"What I'm gonna do?" Blair shot Jim a tired smile. "No, I haven't made up my mind yet, Jim. But... well, more and more, I think... well, I'm beginning to wonder if I have a choice. I mean, Incacha did what he did for a reason, Jim. Maybe I should just face up to it and--" 

Jim walked into the room and cut him off. "You _do_ have a choice, Sandburg, and I won't let you say otherwise." Pulling out the desk chair, Jim perched on it, blotting at his hair with the towel. "What Inca..." Taking a big breath, Jim forced himself to go on. "What Incacha did, he did for me, Chief. I think he thought I needed a shaman, to help me back to my senses, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do it. Since you were already here, helping me, guiding me, he picked you as the logical choice. 

"But I won't let you beat yourself up into believing you MUST do this," Jim went on. "If it's not what you want, then don't do it... don't do it just for... just for me." 

Blair turned and studied him seriously, making Jim feel naked. Hell, he was nearly naked. But there was something in the deep blue gaze his partner turned on him that caused him to shiver slightly. "This is a difficult decision for me, Jim," Blair finally said, uncharacteristically quiet and serious. "I'm supposed to be studying you, documenting your abilities for my dissertation. Some might say I've already seriously crossed the line just by living here, just by... well. If I become a shaman... become _your_ shaman... that's kind of like passing the line by a few light years." 

Jim had no answer for that. His tired brain tried to wrap itself around the concepts Blair presented, without much success. That damned dissertation \-- whenever Jim thought everything was going well, that stupid thing reared its ugly head and came back to haunt him. It was probably true that Blair was not the only one going native here... or perhaps, in Jim's case, it would be 'going academic.' 

Huffing a big sigh, Jim slumped. "I don't know, Chief. I wish... I wish I could... oh hell. I don't know what I wish anymore. I'm too damned tired. Let's sleep on it, and we can talk tomorrow. Okay?" 

Blair smiled, and seemed relieved that Jim had made the suggestion. "Everything looks better in the morning," he agreed. "At least, Naomi says it does. Yeah. Let's get some shut-eye. Good-night, Jim." 

"Good-night, Blair," Jim replied, standing and leaving the room. He climbed the stairs to his bed, draped the damp towels over the railing in defiance of house rule something-or-another, and crawled under his covers -- already half-asleep. Things would look better in the morning. 

end


End file.
